


Show Me What Living Really Means

by feathergrace



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beginnings, Blackmail, Degradation, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Forced Feminization, Healing, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Underage Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, M/M, Manipulative Relationship, NOT between jason and dick!, Name-Calling, New Family, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Damian Wayne, Protective Dick Grayson, Protective Jason Todd, Protective Tim Drake, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to Drugs, Revenge, Romani Dick Grayson, Threats, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Torture, Trauma, Violence, between jason and roman mostly and sort of dick and slade?, he loves dick and it makes me so soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:08:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28492899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathergrace/pseuds/feathergrace
Summary: Dick Grayson has never known anything or anyone other than Slade Wilson, the man who took him in and fed him, clothed him, raised him, made him into who he is today. So when Slade says that Dick owes him, needs him, belongs to him? Dick agrees, calls it the truth and falls in line.....until one Jason Todd, infamous for belonging to Roman Sionis, rather bluntly informs him that all Dick’s ever actually known is lies: and offers him an out."C’mon, Dickie. If you can’t do it for you, do it so these assholes can never hurt another poor soul ever again."orDick is stuck with Slade and Jason with Roman, but only one of them is able to realize it at first.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, Roman Sionis/Jason Todd
Comments: 11
Kudos: 86





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!! before the fic begins, i’d just like to warn you yet again if you haven’t read the tags: please DO. this fic isn’t for everyone. it has many triggering subjects within it as i’m writing to cope, so please make sure you’re OK with handling this kind of material. if there’s any chance at all that it may trigger you, please reconsider reading or read with caution. i want you to be safe, happy and healthy and i wish you nothing but the best. 🤍

_Dick needs Slade._

He needed him like he needed oxygen to breathe, like he needed food and water to sustain himself. Dick needed Slade.

Deep down, Dick knew that this — whatever his and Slade’s relationship was at any given moment — was unhealthy, toxic, dangerous even. But he washed those feelings of doubt and hesitance away with the joy and security he felt, knowing that Slade would forever be a constant in his life. Slade would never leave him or abandon him as long as Dick was good, and what was so wrong with being good? With pleasing Slade? With striving to make the man who’d given him his entire life happy?

 _Nothing._ That’s what Dick would tell himself every time he hesitated to pull the trigger. _It was for Slade, and Slade deserved everything Dick had to offer._

Even if, sometimes, Dick didn’t really want to give it.

-

_Jason hates Roman._

Growing up, he respected the man, admired him for the way he handled things without fear or hesitation. That cruel iron fist that so many people feared? Jason envied it. He wished that he himself held all that power, all that control, two things he’d never had in his life. What kid who had to spend their entire life running and hiding wouldn’t crave that feeling?

But then _it_ happened. Jason grew older. And as he grew older, Roman stopped holding back.

By the time Jason was 15, he was in Roman’s bed every night, screaming at the older man to get off of him, to stop. But Roman never listened — he had no reason to listen. Jason was nothing but a toy to him, something to be used and played with as Roman pleased. How he felt and what he wanted didn’t matter if Roman didn’t also want those things. And once Roman realized that Jason had realized that, he was relentless in his taunting, his cruelty, his punishment. He brought out more tools, more methods, all the while saying, 

"I’m not trying to break you, doll; just mold you into the perfect little toy I know you can be. That’s how all of this works, after all. You can’t be soft and make it in this business, baby, you know that."

Oh, Jason did. He knew it better than anyone. And soon, Roman would come to deeply regret teaching him that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see you on the first chapter!! also, i’m on twitter @feathergraceson if you’d like to chat; i’d love to meet you!


	2. the answer is one i’ll never know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! thank you all for the warm welcome to ao3, and the kind responses you left! i’d like to politely remind you again to check the tags before reading if you haven’t already.
> 
> warnings for this chapter in particular: sladick smut (slade manipulates dick into it as usual so i’d say the consent is definitely dubious), implied/mentioned underage rape but never anything remotely graphic i promise, degrading language , implied/mentioned gang rape, and language because of jason, roman and slade but that’s sort of a given i guess?
> 
> anyways, please proceed with caution and take care of yourself!! again, please don’t proceed if these are things you cannot handle, i don’t want any harm to come to you!

Slade Wilson was like one of those huge ass puzzles you got when you were a kid.

You knew what the overall picture looked like, but you couldn’t figure out which piece went where or why because there were so many of them. You’d spend hours and hours trying to solve the puzzle, determined to do so at first, but eventually you’d give up due to frustration and leave the half-completed puzzle on the floor.

Dick’s time with Slade had passed much the same way. 

When the mercenary had spotted him on the streets all those years ago, Dick had been 7 years old, sobbing for his recently-deceased parents who had been killed by one of Slade’s targets, Tony Zucco (which Dick didn’t realize until years later when the mercenary explained how he’d indirectly avenged his parents’ death). After they’d fallen and Haly’s circus was covered in law enforcement and chaos, Dick had blindly run into the city searching for someone — anyone — who could help him somehow. He’d been so scared, so lonely, so cold and lost. 

And then came Slade.

Dick had asked him multiple times why he’d taken pity on a small, sniveling child; after all, kids were a handful and Slade was a full-time mercenary. But Slade would only roll his eyes and say, "Am I supposed to say that it’s because you were "special," kid? Because you weren’t. I’ve seen plenty of crying kids and ignored every single one of them. _You, pretty bird,_ were just _lucky._ "

And Dick _knew_ _better_. He _knew_ that Slade didn’t base _any_ of his actions on luck. He was too much of a perfectionist, cold-cut and calculated, for that. But the guilt Dick felt after questioning his lone savior’s motives kept him from asking any further questions, especially since Slade was always telling him that he should act more grateful.

"Pretty bird."

Dick snapped out of his reflective state and turned his gaze toward the gym’s entrance, offering Slade a bright smile. "Hey," he said.

Slade titled his head to the side. "What were you doing just now?"

Dick blinked. "....training? Why?"

"I’m not stupid, kid." Slade snorted and Dick felt his cheeks grow warm, "You and I both know you haven’t been training for at least 45 minutes. I would’ve heard you and you’d be out of breath right about now. So, pretty bird," his singular eye narrowed slightly, "I’ll ask again. What were you doing just now?"

"Um," Dick’s gaze flickered to the padded floor and then back to Slade. "Just thinking about how we met, I guess. Reflecting."

"Reflecting, huh."

Slade’s tone was blatantly condescending, but Dick still found himself smiling and nodding in response. "Yeah, reflecting. I’m just really grateful that you—"

"Save it, kid. You give this same speech every day." Slade waved a hand dismissively. "What’ve I told you about showing gratitude?"

Dick flushed for what felt like the hundredth time in a minute, "That I should do so with actions rather than words, because words can lie but actions can’t."

"Good boy," Slade purred. The mercenary stepped forward onto the mat, "So come show me with your _actions_ just how grateful you are."

Truthfully, Dick was tired and sore and thirsty from training. He wanted nothing more than to head up to his room in Slade’s mansion and lie down for a nap before dinner. But Slade wanted him now, and the least Dick could do was comply and show his gratitude for being rescued. After all, as the mercenary had said: words can lie but actions can’t.

"Yes, master."

Dick dropped to his knees in front of Slade’s intimidating figure, eyes locked onto his belt as he worked to unbuckle it. Slade had informed him early on in his training that he shouldn’t raise his gaze until his mouth was already around Slade’s cock; anything else would seem defiant and rude. Dick had to show, _prove,_ his submission first.

Slade’s belt fell to the floor, followed promptly by the sweats he’d been lounging in. When Dick reached for his boxers, however, Slade raised a hand. "Teeth," he reminded with a smirk. Dick’s cheeks warmed as he nodded and leaned forward, biting into the band of Slade’s boxers and tugging down as hard as he could. All of his actions needed to prove his submission, his gratitude. 

When Slade’s boxers reached the middle of his thighs, Dick was surprised to see that the mercenary’s cock was already half hard. It wasn’t like he’d done anything yet to make it that way, and Slade wasn’t usually easy to excite. An impatient growl interrupted his train of thought, so Dick shoved his curiosity to the side and leaned forward, placing soft kisses and kitten licks on the head and drumming his fingers lightly along the length. 

"No hands," Slade chastised, running his fingers through Dick’s hair and then tightening that hand into a fist. "You’re perfectly capable without them, or are you, baby bird? Hmm? Is your tongue simply not enough to please me?"

Dick shook his head and let his hands rest at his sides. "No, master, it is. Sorry for my mistake."

Slade snorted. "You’ve made quite a few of them today, haven’t you? Perhaps some punishment is in order."

Dick fought back a wince at the thought, instead opening his mouth and enveloping almost all of Slade’s cock in warm, wet heat, tongue caressing every area it could reach. The older man chuckled, wordlessly mocking Dick for attempting to distract him from doling out punishment, but tightened his grip and rocked his hips forward nonetheless. Dick move his mouth up and down, slowly gaining speed while continuing to massage his master with his tongue, gaze cross-eyed as he focused. He choked a bit when Slade suddenly thrust forward, but the sharp smile he received in response was enough to quell any noise. 

_As long as Master was happy._

"There you go," Slade purred, fingers now relaxed and gentle as they ran through Dick’s dark curls. "You let me take whatever I want, yeah? You owe that to me, don’t you, boy. You owe your savior."

It was a statement, not a question, but Dick still nodded in agreement, bobbing his head up and down fervently so Slade wouldn’t feel the need to do any of the work. 

"I want, you give, is that right?" The mercenary suddenly tightened his grip in Dick’s hair and yanked his head up, wide shaky blue meeting cold gray steel. "Answer me. How do you answer me when I ask for something from you, pretty bird?"

Dick sped up, hot mouth sinking to the base of Slade’s cock as he began moaning, sending vibrations coursing through the older man’s length. _Words can lie, actions can’t._ Slade grinned.

"Good answer, baby bird."

The pace remained largely the same until Slade grew close, then the thrusts went from fast to brutal and Dick had to focus all of his energy on not choking. Despite his best efforts, saliva dripped from Slade’s cock and around his lips, making a small puddle on the mat beneath them.

Dick breathed heavily through his nose, gripping Slade’s thighs as the mercenary’s pace began to stutter. Both of Slade’s hands were now wound tightly in Dick’s hair, the older man slamming the younger onto the base of his cock as wet, filthy sounds echoed through the gym.

Slade grinned when he noticed the wet tent in Dick’s training shorts, "You like that, pretty bird? You like serving your master, making him feel good like he deserves? Hmm?" Dick tried to nod, but Slade purposefully shoved him down harder at the same time, causing him to choke and spasm. "Answer me, sweetheart. C’mon. Tell daddy how good it feels to worship his cock."

Dick responded with his actions once again, humming and swiveling his head, shaking it side to side and up and down in an attempt to speed up the arrival of Slade’s orgasm. His jaw was beginning to ache and, although he didn’t want to be selfish, he also didn’t want Slade to notice that he was getting tired. 

"Nasty little thing, aren’t you," Slade murmured, running his fingers through the mess of saliva and snot on Dick’s face and spreading it over his cheeks and eyes. "So kind and generous of me to take in such a little nasty gutter slut and show him his purpose, show him what he’s good for. You agree, don’t you, pretty bird? I can tell by the way you choke yourself on my cock, don’t worry. You know your place."

Dick nodded fervently, humming and whimpering desperately around Slade’s cock as he began to hump the floor. The sharp grin on Slade’s face grew wider at the sight. "Oh, yes you do," he purred, slamming Dick’s face all the way down his length and holding it there, ignoring the boy’s feeble attempts at pushing away. "Shh, shhh, pretty bird. Don’t struggle. You know this is where you belong."

Dick relaxed at the words. Slade was right. This was where he belonged, what he needed to do. He blinked up at the older man, ocean eyes shining with unshed tears. Slade continued to thrust into Dick’s mouth, grunting as he kept the boy firmly in place and completely disregarding his need to breathe. Dick was fine; he was used to this.

He’d been doing it since he was a kid, after all.

"Ready to drink all daddy’s cum? Hmm?" Slade breathed, chuckling when Dick hummed and tightened his grip on Slade’s thighs, "Good boy, my pretty bird. Don’t spill a drop."

Dick never did.

A few more quick thrusts and Slade was finishing deep in Dick’s throat, the younger man choking and heaving as he was held in place and made to swallow. It wasn’t until Dick’s throat bobbed harshly that Slade yanked him off of his now-soft cock, ruffling his sweaty curls. "What do you say, little bird?"

"Th-thank you, master," Dick whispered, voice rough and scratchy from the rough treatment it had just endured. His own erection had long since been forgotten, all of his energy having been focused on pleasing Slade. "Thank you for letting me thank you and show you my gratitude."

"Anytime, kid," Slade smirked. He’d tucked himself back into his pants and dragged Dick up to stand side by side with him, wrapping his arms around his trembling form. "C’mon, we gotta get dressed, kid."

Dick blinked. "....dressed? Where are we going?"

"Mission," Slade replied, leaning in suddenly. Dick quickly tilted his head and opened his mouth, allowing the mercenary to stake his claim with a rough, messy kiss. Dick melted into Slade’s arms, whimpering when the older man snuck a hand down the front of his shorts and began to massage his cock. To Slade’s delight, his knees buckled, almost all of his weight resting on the silver-haired man.

"Come for me, pretty baby," Slade growled into Dick’s ear, blowing on it and grinning at the lewd moan he received in response. "Come on, come for your master."

And as he always did, Dick obeyed.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Jason Todd was tired, bored, and angry, not necessarily in that order when it came to intensity.

Private meetings with Roman Sionis never ended well, regardless of who you were. If he bothered asking for you, chances were good he was going to kill you or, at the very least, maim you for his amusement. Jason was the one exception, and he’d grown to hate that fact.

Roman always crowed about how special Jason was to him, how he’d never have another little toy soldier quite like him. And it was true, but Jason didn’t want it to be.

He used to; he craved that validation and praise so he could feel wanted and needed. Now, those words were fuel to the raging rebellious fire that burned inside of him. He didn’t need those words, _Roman’s_ words, anymore. He neededfreedom, his own way of running things. He needed control.

(That’s what he told himself, anyway. Mother always said that it was better to want one thing and nothing more, lest you be disappointed. Jason snorted quietly as he spun on the swivel chair in Roman’s empty office.)

The truth — and everyone around Jason knew it — was that he was tired of Roman. Tired of answering to him, catering to his every whim, warming his bed night after night and his torture chamber on select ones. The control that Jason thought he’d receive was never going to be given to him, because Roman was one possessive bastard and he couldn’t risk losing Jason, couldn’t risk giving him an inch and then watching him take thousands of miles. That meant the shackles were never going to loosen, that the chains would remain short and unforgiving.

So, Jason was going to have to write his own deliverance.

He’d been planning for months now, ever since Roman had decided it’d be fun to give Jason to his men "as a reward for them and a punishment for him." They’d used him for hours, finally getting their revenge after all of Jason’s snark and sass, and Roman had thoroughly enjoyed it. He’d sat in the room the entire time, laughing and enjoying Jason’s lack of resistance. Why didn’t he resist, you ask?

Because he couldn’t, damn it. Because that bastard had finally found the one weak spot Jason had. It had taken him awhile, but he’d done it: and Jason hadn’t slept since.

Before Roman had picked Jason up from the streets, he’d been living with a kid named Tim Drake. Tim was the son of two wealthy parents, but they treated him like utter shit and the kid ran away from home during their frequent business trips. At first, Jason was apprehensive — there was no way some little rich kid would last a second out in the real world — but it wasn’t long before the cute little kid with the big blue eyes had wiggled his way into Jason’s self-proclaimed non-existent heart.

Then, Tim’s parents died in an accident while abroad and Jason was dragged out of bed at 3 am in the morning by the sound of frantic knocking on his door.

Tim was in hysterics, a shell of his usually calm self, insisting that he was going to be sent off somewhere terrible because he had no other living family that wanted him. So barely-12-year-old Jason took him in, muttering all the awhile about how many years he’d get in jail for "harboring a fugitive," and the two had been sticking together ever since.

Then Roman came along with his oh-so-glorious-at-the-time offer and, well, they weren’t really sticking together any more. Jason lived in a complex owned by Roman and Tim lived with Roy Harper, the only person Jason had ever considered a genuine friend. He was safer with Roy than anyone else.

On his nights off, Jason made sure to visit Tim, but those nights weren’t very common. In fact, he saw Tim a couple times a month at most. It definitely sucked (although he’d never tell Tim that), but he didn’t really want his little.... ward? companion? brother? involved with Roman. The kid deserved a better, brighter future than one involving that asshole.

 _Speaking of which,_ Jason scowled. Did Roman forget he’d called Jason up for a meeting at 4? Where _was_ he? Hopefully not collecting more blackmail material. Jason snorted again and spun around in his chair. Damn, this thing was kinda fun.

If he was being completely honest, Jason didn’t know how Roman had even found out about Tim. Roy was _not_ the kind of person to let something like that slip. He had a little girl himself, Lian, so he understood Jason’s protectiveness. Respected it, even. But somehow, Roman had gotten past Roy _and_ Jason and figured out that, not only did Tim have a connection to Jason, but that he was the one person Jason would be willing to take hours and hours of brutal torture for.

Fuck. Jason glared at the ceiling.

"Don’t frown like that, sweetheart. Don’t want any wrinkles on that pretty face of yours."

 _Fuck you too,_ Jason thought as he turned to face the owner of that greasy, smooth voice. Roman grinned at him.

"Sorry for the wait, lamb. Had important business to take care of. Did you have fun while I was gone, at least?"

"Just thinking about how much of an asshole you are. So yeah, such fun memories!"

The greatest, and arguably only, benefit to being Roman’s favorite was that Jason could snark his ass off. Most of the time.

"Asshole? I’m hurt, baby," Roman purred as he made his way over to his desk, grinning wider when Jason glared at him. "You’ve been so hostile lately. Is something wrong, sweetheart? C’mon, you can tell daddy anything."

"Alright then." Jason inhaled and then put on the biggest, brightest smile he could muster. "Daddy, could you please go fuck yourself? Because that would make me really happy."

He wasn’t surprised when all traces of mirth left Roman’s face immediately, but whatever punishment he was going to receive was totally worth that dig.

"Perhaps I need to pay precious baby brother a visit, Jason. You seem a little too.... _comfortable,_ for my tastes." 

Fuck. Maybe it wasn’t worth it, then. Jason scowled. "Look, _sir._ You can do whatever you want to me, because I’ll still hate you regardless. But you stay the fuck _away_ from _him,_ you got that? Or else you’ll regret ever recruiting me, and that’s a threat and a _promise._ "

Roman snorted, seemingly genuinely amused, "You really think you’re in any position to threaten _me?"_ He leaned forward, eyes twinkling once again. "Baby doll, _I_ hold all the cards, always will. You can say whatever you want, but just know that you’ll pay for each word I don’t like the sound of."

Jason sneered. "Then charge me for it upfront, asshole. Take from me what you will, it’s not like you have any problem doing that anyway. But to be such a big fucking coward by threatening some kid you’ve never even met just so you can feel a little more powerful? A little more, what, evil? Are you a freaking Disney villain or some shit?"

_Calm down, Jason. Calm down. Tim’s okay, but he isn’t going to be if you let yourself get out of control. You’re not losing the war by backing away from a fight._

To his surprise, Roman sighed. "I’ll let you off the hook this time, lamb, if only because I’m too tired to do otherwise. But if this behavior continues...." he flashed the cellphone in his hand with a grin, "I’ll be sure to let my men know that little Timothy Drake-Todd is fair game. They’d certainly enjoy a few rounds with such a pretty, _pretty_ face."

_He’s taunting you. He wants you to lose it, to give him an excuse. Don’t do it. Don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you break._

"He’s a kid, Roman. Leave him alone." That was the best Jason could do. 

Roman shrugged, "So were you, so, no, I don’t see your point."

"Of course you don’t, you fucking creep," Jason muttered under his breath. Roman heard it, of course, if that mocking grin was anything to go by — but Jason didn’t care. The mob boss didn’t need to think he’d let him get away with saying anything he wanted about Jason’s little bro— Tim. 

"Anyway, I called you here for a reason," Roman remarked lightly. "I have a mission for you. It’s a relatively easy one, especially given your partner."

"Partner? I never have a partner."

"You will this time." Roman handled him a thick orange folder. "Your target is an.... old acquaintance of mine. You’ll find more info in that folder, but before you open it I’d like you to meet your partner first."

Jason sighed. Great, socializing. His favorite. "When, where and who?"

"Now, here, and Deathstroke."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m projecting so hard onto dick and jason. i feel terrible for them.... oops.
> 
> next chapter will be up as soon as it can be! hope you liked this one (especially the smut; i haven’t ever really written smut, only read it, so i didn’t really know what to do. hopefully it wasn’t that bad haha! *sweats)
> 
> twitter so we can become friends and chat if you’d like! @feathergraceson


End file.
